


Walk These Halls of Mine

by BuckyAndDanno



Category: 9-1-1 (TV), Chicago Fire, Chicago Med, Code Black (TV)
Genre: Angsty 118, Author is bored and watching so many procedurals, Buck Finds A New Family, Buck Is A Doctor, Buck Leaves The 118, Crossover, Dr. Evan "Buck" Buckley-Severide, ED Director Leanne Rorish, Multi, Other tags to be updated as the fic progresses, Residency Director Evan "Buck" Buckley, You Don't Know What You've Got Until It's Gone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29162073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckyAndDanno/pseuds/BuckyAndDanno
Summary: 9-1-1: 3x01 AU. “Your life isn’t over just because you’re not a firefighter anymore.” There’s a moment where Buck just stares at the box in front of him, at the blue scrubs in his hand, the framed MD, and the next minute he’s racing out the door. It was time he stopped running from his past, embraced it, and ran towards his future.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 158





	Walk These Halls of Mine

**Author's Note:**

> I wonder if there will ever be a time when I’m not milking the 3A drama for all it’s worth, but that time is certainly not now, haha. I started watching Code Black this past week, and as soon as I realised it was set in LA my brain started thinking up another Dr. Buckley fic. Then Jeff Hephner (Jeff Clarke in Chicago Fire/PD) turned up as the Chair of the Board at Angels Memorial, and was talking about hiring a new Residency Director, and suddenly it was a Buckley-Severide fic too. I’m not sorry, and I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Also, I really wanted to write a fic where Buck doesn’t leave the 118 because he’s angry at them or anything; he’s just moving on as he feels he’s never going to be let back. It distances him from the team in a way none of them expected, and leads to the 118 realising what they’ve lost, even though he’s still right there.
> 
> For those who aren’t familiar with all of the shows, the character list is below:  
> Dr. Jeff Clarke – Former firefighter at Station 51 (Chicago), former ED Attending at Chicago Med, and current Chair of the Board at Angels Memorial (L.A.)  
> Dr. Leanne Rorish – ED Director at Angels Memorial. Known as “Daddy.”  
> Dr. Evan “Buck” Buckley-Severide – Former Trauma Attending at Chicago Med, former firefighter at Station 118 (L.A.), and current Residency Director/ED Attending and Trauma Specialist at Angels Memorial.  
> Dr. Neal Hudson – ED Attending and Surgical Specialist at Angels Memorial.  
> Drs. Angus Leighton, Mario Savetti, Malaya Pineda, and Christa Lorenson – ED Residents.  
> Nurse Jesse Salander – Lead Nurse in the ED. Known as “Mama.”  
> Firefighters at Station 118 – Captain Robert “Bobby” Nash, Edmundo “Eddie” Diaz, Henrietta “Hen” Wilson, Howard “Howie/Chimney” Han and Lena Bosko.  
> Madeline “Maddie” Buckley – Buck’s sister, and Chimney’s girlfriend. 9-1-1 dispatch operator.
> 
> If you are familiar with Code Black, the events leading up to Leanne being appointed ED Director happened a little differently, as will be explained, and Angus’ brother never showed up. Also, for Fire/Med fans, Clarke’s backstory is a little different too.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own 9-1-1, Chicago Fire, Chicago Med, or Code Black (or Winnie the Pooh, which I make reference to). I’m just keeping myself amused during lockdown.

**NOW**

He never thought it would end this way, staring down the barrel of a gun with the person he cares about the most bleeding out beside him.

He never thought fate would tear them apart, then bring them back together, only to rip them apart once more.

He’d dealt with the cruel hands of death so many times, in his own life and in his career, but never had he thought it would end like this.

“Buck…”

**THEN**

He knows he’s in a bad way the moment he’s conscious.

It’s not even the fact that there’s a firetruck casually crushing his leg, or the grief stricken kid who caused it threatening to blow them all up. It’s not the way he can read the concern on Bobby’s face as he glances between himself and the kid. It’s not because he can see Hen, half hidden behind the other truck, with her med bag in hand, body aimed as if to run straight for him as soon as she’s able.

No.

It’s how he feels weak and dizzy; the rapid thump of his heart against his ribcage and the way his fingertips are completely numb as they scrape across the ground. He can recognise hypovolemia as easily as his own face; knows he hasn’t got a lot of time for them to get him to a hospital.

It’s also because he knows how bad crush injuries can be. He’s seen it many times, been the person responsible for bringing such patients back from the brink, or been the first one to watch with regret as they flatlined.

Now as he finds himself on the other side of it all, his sole shred of hope is that his family is around him; that he trusts them to get him out of this.

The moment the kid is led away and his team rush to his side, that’s when Buck allows himself to breathe. He trusts them, more than anyone else in the world save Maddie and Kelly, to get him back home alive.

Hen squeezes his hand briefly, and as little as he can feel it, the action isn’t lost, a small smile gracing his lips even as she asks him how he is and he answers, “getting numb.”

The cold feels like a blanket over him now. He knows they have one chance at getting him out and onto the rig, otherwise he isn’t going to make it to the ED, no matter how good he’s heard Angels Memorial is.

Hen and Chim are reading out his stats, hooking up an IV with warm saline to try and replenish his body and warm him a little, while Eddie and Bobby are removing the airbags off the rig and placing them under the truck.

“Hold on Buckaroo.” Hen whispers softly, eyes glued to the readouts, and he knows without even looking that they’re not going to be good.

Still, even in his weakened state his mind stays riddled with facts and treatment plans, hand reaching out weakly for Hen as Eddie, Bobby and other members of the crew ready to inflate the air bags. “P-Push s-sodium b-bi-carb.” He doesn’t know if it would be something she knew, but he knows his body won’t be able to handle a seizure if the release of his leg floods his system with potassium.

She blinks at him, and he isn’t sure if it’s shock at his knowledge, annoyance at being told what to do, or concern about how badly he’s slurring. He just stares right back, even under drooping eyelids.

“Hyp…kal…mia…”

He sees the moment the word registers with her, then she’s nodding and rifling through her med back, pulling out the familiar hypodermic needle. “Cap! Give me a three count before you inflate the bags!”

Buck can barely hear Bobby yell back; there’s just the sharp prick of the needle and the uncomfortable sensation of his bones shifting. Then the pain comes, and a scream tears from his throat without warning.

But he’s free.

That’s what matters.

They saved him, and now he just has to fight to stay alive.

Yet as he’s lifted onto a backboard and into the rig, a heavy blanket tucked around him, he finds he can feel nothing but the cold that seems to have seeped into every inch of his body. His eyelids have closed without him realising, and then he’s surrounded by a penetrating darkness that floods his mind.

He doesn’t remember anything after that.

“Okay people, we’ve got incoming! We are officially in code black!”

They’d expected it as soon as they saw the news report featuring an overturned fire truck, bodies littering the street and one person stuck beneath it, yet it’s the moment that Jesse’s voice rings out across the ED that Dr. Leanne Rorish feels that familiar pulse of adrenaline rushing through her veins.

Several patients enter at once, three gurneys included, yet it’s the patient at the head of the procession that draws her attention.

A stark red birthmark against too pale skin, flecks of blood dying blonde hair, a rivulet of crimson streaking down high cheekbones, and a paramedic’s blood covered gloves pressing down hard on his leg. Still wearing the heavy turnout coat that marks him as a firefighter, she knows immediately that they’re looking at the man who was pinned.

“Dr Savetti! Dr Pineda!” She calls over immediately to two of her residents, waving them over. “Front gurney! Let’s get him into centre stage!”

They’re at the gurney within moments, the paramedic following them into the central area of the ED.

“What have we got?” Rorish asks as they set about hooking up a heart monitor, blood and fluids.

“Evan Buckley. 28. Crush injury to the Tibia and Fibula, caused by a ladder truck. Heart rate 130. BP 60 over 40. GCS 11. Responding to pain stimuli, but showed signs of confusion before losing consciousness, en route.” She tells them, and the look of worry on the woman’s face tells her that she’s more than just a paramedic or a colleague. “Sodium bicarb administered at the scene, along with 3 of morphine.”

“Hyperkalemia?” Her mind had already begun logging stats and figures, working out the best course of action. “Did he seize?”

“No. It was administered in conjunction with release”

The answer takes her back for a moment, but she’s surprised if it reads on her face, even as the paramedic adds “he told me to,” as if she knows. If anything, that just leaves Leanne with a few more questions about their new patient, but she quickly brings herself back into the moment.

For now, they need to save his life.

Nodding to the woman, she says, “We’ll take care of him.” There are no promises in the ED, even with Mama’s number one rule, but she also knows she’ll do everything in her power to save him.

“I’m not finding a distal pulse.” Pineda says, and Rorish checks, then nods in agreement.

“And what’s your suggestion Dr. Pineda?”

The resident hesitates for a moment, enough for the paramedic, still stood by, to frown at them. “You’re using this as a teaching experience?”

Rorish checks the monitor quickly, stats still low but stable enough for the moment with the transfusions and saline set up, then turns to the paramedic. “I’m sorry Ms…?”

“Wilson. Henrietta Wilson.”

“Ms Wilson. Angels Memorial is a number one teaching hospital for a reason, but I assure you, your friend is in the best hands. Now, if you don’t mind waiting outside?” A moment later, she’s looking back to Pineda and Savetti, expectant.

“Usually we would realign a break to increase blood flow back to the limb, but with a crush injury, we could make it worse. If bone fragments shift or nick a vessel…” Pineda says, looking between Rorish and their patient.

“So we…” Rorish prompts.

“X-ray here to check if realignment is possible.” Savetti finishes.

Rorish nods, satisfied. “Good. Jesse!” She calls to her favourite of the ED’s nurses, known lovingly as “Mama”. “Can we get the x-ray over here?!”

Moments later they’re looking at the displayed image of their patient’s leg. Rorish smiles. “A single break with two smaller fragments. A lot better than it could have been.”

“So we realign?”

“That we do.” Moving to the base of the gurney, she takes a hold of Buckley’s foot, motioning for Savetti to take the leg and Pineda to hold him steady. “He’s unconscious, but it doesn’t mean he won’t feel it.”

Not a moment later, Evan Buckley jerks on the table with a scream, before flopping back down, silent.

“Distal pulse is back!” Pineda calls.

“Apologies Mr Buckley, but you’re gonna be a heck of a lot better this way.” Rorish says, then looks down at the thick crimson still leaking from the gash on the man’s leg. “Okay, we’ve still got a heavy bleed. Hang another O-neg. Let’s pack it and get him up to the OR!”

The moment the patient is out of her hands, separated now by the thick glass and stainless steel of the OR doors, Leanne breathes.

There was always something different about working on another first responder, something infinitely more urgent and personal, and this had been no different.

Yet there was also something else niggling at the back of her mind – not familiar, as such, but definitely somewhat similar – regarding the young man now in her care; something Leanne couldn’t quite put her finger on. A quick flick through of his file on her way back down to the ED reveals nothing out of the ordinary besides treatment for a severe viral infection in Chicago, though that in itself makes her think of their Chief of the Board, previously a Chicago native.

She’s never been one to ask for much of anything, but perhaps she’ll let it slide into conversation the next time she sees Clarke, and see what he says.

As it turns out, she doesn’t have to wait all that long.

They’ve just about gotten the ED under control, three hours later, slipping finally into Code Red, when Clarke shows up to get an update so he can deal with the press outside.

“Most of the firefighters had relatively minor injuries,” she says, having spoken with her colleague Neal Hudson, Jesse, and the other residents, “but I assume you’re asking more about Mr Buckley?” She pauses for a brief moment, watching as his eyes tick just slightly. “Tibial break, along with two smaller fragmented breaks. Severe bleeding from a contusion to the leg where the break nicked the artery. Treated at the scene for hyperkalemia. 2 o-neg infused with sixteen gauge in both arms by the time we took him up to the OR, having realigned the break to regain distal pulse. He was hypotensive and tachy, but the OR have him stabilised.”

Clarke nods, relief smoothing the creases around his eyes. “The media will be glad to hear.”

“As are you.” She says, testing the water. It had taken a little more of her time in the ED before she put some of the puzzle pieces together, but she was pretty sure she was right.

“I’m sorry?” Clarke blinks, surprised.

“The paramedic who brought him in mentioned that he told her to push the sodium bicarb as he was released. I mean sure, he could just be a fan of medical dramas but to think of it when a 60 thousand pound ladder truck is on top of you? It screams medical professional. I saw on his chart that he was treated in 2016 at Chicago Med for a severe viral infection. That’s the same time you were there, and I remember you telling me about a colleague of yours who fell foul of something similar during a quarantine situation, who then left shortly after.” She smiles softly, pleased. “Also your eye ticked when I mentioned his name.”

He gives a soft huff, half way between a laugh and exasperation. “You’re very good, Leanne, and you never let me forget it.”

“And I never will.”

He smiles. “Buckley was one of the best doctors I’ve ever worked with. I didn’t realise he was in LA until I saw the news report.”

“So I can guess you’ll be on his visitor log later?”

Another huff. “He left Chicago behind for a reason, though if I ever could get him on staff here, I sure as hell would.”

She knows she probably shouldn’t push, given her own history, but maybe that was what she had felt earlier; a kindred bond with someone else who had suffered a similar loss as her. “What happened?”

The smile he gives her now is wry and sad. “Leanne, you of all people should know that sometimes… bad shit happens to good people.” Then he turns and heads out the door to the blinding lights of the photo-journalists waiting outside.

Still, she’s not surprised to find him at Buckley’s room hours later.

Dr. Jeff Clarke had undergone many changes in his life and career, from moving back to Chicago and working at 51, working at Med, and then moving here to a more administrative position at Angels. That said, he’d always thanked his lucky stars to not have undergone any of the traumas he saw so often.

With regards to Evan Buckley (Or Buckley-Severide depending on who you talked to) he simply thanked anyone listening that the man had always been strong enough to overcome anything that even tried to take him down.

Today was no exception.

After five hours in the OR, he’d been brought up to the SICU for continual observation, though the medical team were sure of a full recovery after rehabilitation. Two more hours of visitors had passed through before one of the nurses had to politely ask them to leave, and now Jeff was staring at the frosted glass door as if it was going to bite him.

He and Evan had been fast friends in Chicago, despite himself being more senior, yet three years without contact left him feeling more than a little lost.

“You’re allowed to check on him.”

He hadn’t even heard her come up, but her words sink into his mind, heavy as lead. “I’m not sure if I am.”

“You’re right.” She says, and it makes him turn to her, brow furrowed, as she continues. “Bad shit does happen to good people, but you know what makes it better?”

She gives him a nudge, and he stumbles just slightly, hand pressed against the door.

“Good friends.”

Perhaps it’s the literal push he needed, but he nods once, then turns the handle.

For a long moment he simply looks at the pale figure in the bed, at the face he hasn’t seen in so long, and wonders if he’s asleep. Then pale blue eyes flicker open at the sound of the door closing, and Jeff can’t help but smile.

“Never thought I’d have a Severide in my hospital.”

Confusion wares with pain, prompting Jeff to move over to the bedside monitor and adjust the morphine dose. It might make the conversation shorter than it should be, but the last thing Jeff wants to see is Evan in pain.

Not again. Not ever.

There’d been far too much of it in Chicago as it was.

“Jeff?” Evan rasps.

“Hey, kid.” Passing over a cup of ice chips one of the nurses had left, he lets himself take a seat beside the bed, smiling softly. “Good to see you, even if I wish it was under better circumstances.”

“Nothing like being on the other side of it, huh?” Evan replies with a small chuckle. “I never was the best patient.”

“But you were one hell of a doctor.”

Evan rubs at his eyes, but whether he’s fighting sleep or memories, Jeff can’t tell. “That was a long time ago.”

“Medicine still misses you.”

“Maybe…” Looking down at his casted leg, suspended in traction, Evan sighs. “You know how long I’ll be out? My team kinda refuse to say anything and I don’t think a doc’s been by yet.”

“Shouldn’t you know?” Jeff chances a smirk. Evan had been, without a doubt, the best Attending at Chicago Med when it came to trauma cases. It was no wonder really that he’d chosen firefighting as an alternative, regardless of his brother’s own career.

“Six to eight months.” Evan sighs. “But I was hoping you’d tell me wrong.”

“No can do Roo.”

“Oh god.” Evan groans. “Are we really going back to that? I haven’t seen Will for as long as I’ve seen you.”

“Why lose something great?” Jeff is all out grinning by this point. “You were the kid of both 51 and Med.”

“I’ve grown a lot since then.” Another sad smile twitches his lips, and Jeff sighs, taking his hand and squeezing lightly.

“I’m sure, but don’t go all Eeyore on me, Roo.”

Evan rolls his eyes. “Hey, Eeyore is great, and his friends support him no matter what.”

“That they do.” He chuckles softly, remembering passing by the family waiting room and seeing it filled to the brim with familiar looking turnout coats. “But I’m afraid we had to send your fan club away for the evening.”

“Haha.” The smile brightens, if only a fraction, and Jeff counts it as a win. “Thanks for coming, Tig.”

“Where else would I be?” Jeff laughs softly, ignoring any and all of his earlier hesitation. Why he’d thought it would be any different to how they used to be, he doesn’t know. Of course he was the same Evan he’d known and admired, just older and (maybe?) wiser. “Though I had to deal with all your paparazzi first.”

Evan raises a brow, bemused. “What, you stopped walking the ED floors now? Switched to _admin_?”

“It’s better than it sounds.”

“I’m sure.”

“How about we catch up once you’re out, and I’ll tell you all about it?” He pats Evan’s knee and stands. Much as he wants to stay, there are other priorities he has to deal with too. “Just… try not to be a patient in my ED again?”

“I promise I’ll try.”

Over the next few months, they do catch up. Weekly lunches between Evan’s PT, calls and texts, and so on. In some ways, it starts to feel like they missed no time at all, and Jeff is glad for the constant friendship outside of the hospital, more so when a knife wielding psychopath tries to take out their ED Director.

He’d only just started seeing Dr. Perello – Gina – when it happened, and it knocked him for six. Jeff had fallen to one of his lowest points while she’d remained unresponsive in the ICU, and it was only though the grace of Evan’s friendship and Rorish’s hard-headedness that he’d been able to pull himself out of it.

After that he was forced to face the fact that they needed a new ED Director, and Leanne was the only one he wanted in the position. That meant he needed to hire a new Residency Director instead though, and for that job there was only one person he had in mind.

Yet Evan Buckley was determined to get back to firefighting, and no amount of cajoling from his friend would change his mind.

Then the embolism happened, and Jeff can’t recall another moment in his life – beside Gina being attacked – where he’d felt the same level of fear that rushed through him the moment he saw his blood covered friend being wheeled into the ED once more.

“You of all people should have known this could happen.”

Evan Buckley forces himself not to roll his eyes and huff at his friend, even as he settles himself back down onto yet another hospital bed. “Really don’t need the ‘I told you so’ right now.”

“I heard.” Jeff says softly, closing the door behind them. He hadn’t meant to, but he’d been heading down to see Evan when he spotted the man in question having a heated argument with his captain. “Sucks man.”

“Yeah…” Buck huffs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It really, really, does.”

“You ever think the world is trying to tell you something?” Maybe it’s not the right time to bring it up again, judging by the way Evan’s gaze snaps to him, but there’s something in the way that he’d felt so helpless watching Evan be pushed by him, something about the way Evan had all but yelled at his Captain that he was meant to help people, that pushes him to say it anyway.

Buck just shakes his head. He knows exactly where Jeff is going with this, but he’s too hurt by Bobby’s words, by the thought of never being able to be a firefighter again, that has him shying away. He’s worked too hard not to be let back now. “Don’t.”

“You loved medicine, but you left it because of him, and Benny, not because you wanted to.” Jeff sighs, slipping back down into the chair beside the bed once more. “So don’t say to me, like you said to your Captain, that there’s nothing else for you.”

He’s right, but it’s not really something Buck wants to consider right then. Firefighting had been his life for the past three years, regardless of what drove him to it. To just give it up, after working so hard, because of things that weren’t his fault…?

Yet, a niggling voice whispers in the back of his mind, wasn’t that why he’d given up medicine too?

Sighing softly, he forces a smile for his friend. “You’re just saying this because you want me in the ED.”

“I mean, you’re more than familiar with it now.”

“Yeah, I somehow doubt Dr. Rorish is gonna respect me after I bled over her floor twice.”

“I’ve told her more than enough that her respect for you is in spades, Evan.” Jeff shakes his head, knowing his friend’s avoidance tactics as well as he knows his own. “I think it’d be good for you, and I’m not just saying that because it would benefit Angels. I’m saying it because I’m your friend, and I don’t want to see you being brought in at death’s door again.”

A long moment passes before Buck can break his gaze from Jeff’s, fingers picking at the threads of the sheets.

“I’ll think about it.”

It doesn’t take him long to come to a decision.

Several days spent in bed, thoughts swirling in his mind, culminate with an impromptu visit from his not so sympathetic best friend, urging him to get up and find something else to fill his life with.

“Your life isn’t over just because you’re not a firefighter anymore.” Eddie calls as he heads back down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Buck stares over the railings at him for a long moment, as the conversations he’d had with Jeff spring to mind. As the smell of eggs and bacon fills the air, he turns, shifting over to the bed and pulling out a lightly dusted box from beneath it.

“Says the firefighter.” He calls back before blowing the dust away and peeling the lid open. Several items stare back at him, but its two in particular that he picks up, weighing the importance of them in each hand.

“There’s something out there for you Buck, even if it isn’t the 118.” Eddie responds, but Buck barely hears him as he’s assaulted with memories; both the good and the bad.

He just stares at the box in front of him, at the blue scrubs in his hand, the framed MD, and the next minute he’s racing out the door.

It was time he stopped running from his past, embraced it, and ran towards his future.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope no-one minds me changing the firetruck scene, but I discovered Fire Department Chronicles on Youtube, where an actual firefighter reacted to that scene, so I couldn’t not make it a bit more realistic, especially with Buck being a Dr. in this fic. The bit about potassium and sodium bicarbonate is from my watching of Rescue: Special Ops when they deal with crush injuries (Maddie actually mentions Hyperkalemia when they’re watching the news too). Also any medical stuff was googled; I am far from being a Dr. or any other sort of medical professional; I just love medical knowledge/facts.


End file.
